


your heart taking root in your body

by gealbhan



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Established Relationship, Ferdibert Week, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Black Eagles Route, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Mortality, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-07
Updated: 2019-12-07
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:08:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21622726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gealbhan/pseuds/gealbhan
Summary: “Good evening,” says Hubert with a reflexive smile. “What are you up to at this hour?”“Is it not obvious? I am praying.” Ferdinand’s clasped hands, fingers intertwined so tightly his knuckles are flushed white, shift to fold behind his back instead. “Rather, Iwasbefore you interrupted me.”
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 6
Kudos: 137





	your heart taking root in your body

**Author's Note:**

> written for day 7 of ferdibert week: proposal! i was going to do something completely different that also incorporated another prompt, but then i didn't finish the fic it was supposed to fall in the same universe as in time, so have this instead! (somewhat late but hey, it's still the 7th where i am)
> 
> title from [this richard siken quote](https://www.goodreads.com/quotes/221968-you-re-in-a-car-with-a-beautiful-boy-and-he). enjoy!

At night, the cathedral is cold.

This shouldn’t be too surprising—the monastery grounds as a whole are cold, really, and the state of ruin that the cathedral sits in makes proper ventilation a challenge. The cathedral has also always seemed cold to Hubert, if only in the unwelcoming sense. While the _demon_ title belongs to the professor, Hubert too feels as though the holy ground will burn his feet, and of course he holds no sentimental attachment to the Church or its Goddess. As he steps in tonight to find some respite in the silence, he’s startled by the chill. (And the fact that his boots don’t sear away.)

He’s more startled, however, by the fact that he’s not alone. Though the cathedral is often empty past sundown, now Hubert finds another figure within, moonlight-illuminated hair unmistakable. Ferdinand is facing the altar with his head bowed and his hands before him. A familiar position, while not one Hubert has ever stood in.

Hubert weighs his options and decides to continue onward. The layout of the cathedral means that his entrance is far from as surreptitious as he would prefer it to be. Though his footsteps don’t physically hurt, he still finds himself wincing at the volume of each movement forward, and by the time he’s made it to Ferdinand’s side, Ferdinand is tilting his head back.

“Hello,” says Ferdinand, quiet.

Hubert makes a swift recovery from his discomfort. “Good evening,” he says with a reflexive smile. “What are you up to at this hour?”

“Is it not obvious? I am praying.” Ferdinand’s clasped hands, fingers intertwined so tightly his knuckles are flushed white, shift to fold behind his back instead. “Rather, I _was_ before you interrupted me.”

“Hmm. Shall I leave you to it, then?”

Before Hubert can retreat, Ferdinand’s hand catches his wrist. He isn’t wearing gloves, Hubert notices, and usually fire-warm fingers have been made icy by the night air, though they pale in comparison to Hubert’s clammy skin. They curl around the skin beneath Hubert’s sleeve. Ferdinand’s grip is strong but still loose enough that Hubert could pull away—which he doesn’t.

“You need not do that,” assures Ferdinand. “Besides, I suspect you would only linger outside and send me into cardiac arrest upon my own exit.” True enough, Hubert supposes, though he makes no move to confirm nor deny it. “Join me, will you not?”

“In prayer?” asks Hubert, and Ferdinand answers only by inclining his head. “I’m not exactly a praying man.”

“I am aware.” Ferdinand releases Hubert’s wrist, which falls limply to his hip, and settles his hands at his sides. “But I would appreciate your company. And I feel that it would be a tad uncomfortable to go on thinking of you without your presence.”

Understanding strikes. “Your prayers regarded me?” asks Hubert, voice faint and halting.

“Indeed,” says Ferdinand, looking—and sounding, judging off the slight tremor in his tone—abashed now. “It—is likely foolish, I know, to wish the blessings of the Goddess upon a man who does not even believe in her, but—” A muscle in his jaw, almost hidden by the path of his hair, works. “I worry. We are at war, after all. And if someday I am unable to protect you myself, the Goddess may as well do so in my place.”

Hubert’s face burns at the very notion, the temperature of the cathedral fading to background noise. “If it weren’t at least a little foolish, it wouldn’t be like you.” He shakes himself, ignoring Ferdinand’s blink as he presumably figures out whether he should be insulted by that remark, and shifts his feet. The longer he spends in here, the more he feels like a trespasser. “But… while it is very true I hold little regard for the Church and its teachings, I do appreciate the thought.”

Ferdinand huffs out a laugh-shaped breath. “I am relieved to hear you say that,” he admits. “Honestly, I planned to take this particular secret to the grave. However soon that may be.”

“Don’t say such things,” says Hubert, choked out of a tight throat and sand-dry mouth. Embarrassing, when he speaks so often of his own death and those of his (or rather, her) enemies, but this is different, gutting him like an ill-prepared fish under the tip of a too-dull blade. “Please.”

“Ah.” Ferdinand’s voice is softer now, verging on pity without making it overt enough for Hubert to forgo his worries in favor of picking a fight. Ferdinand’s face shifts in that direction as well. One of his hands twitches toward Hubert before falling back to his side. “Of course. You worry too.”

It isn’t a question, but still, Hubert confirms, “I do,” for how could he _not_? As Ferdinand had said, they’re at war here. Every battle is more difficult, a closer scrape. And while Hubert has prepared himself at length for the inevitability of death (while he has even considered slaying many of those with whom he is now allied), he still finds himself shaking in the fingers—as he is now, he’s ashamed to acknowledge—whenever he considers all of the ways his companions could fall in battle.

“Then I shall pray for my survival tonight as well. So you do not have to turn against your beliefs.” With a small smile, Ferdinand presses his hands together before him again and turns to face the front of the cathedral. The moon streaming in from above casts a glow onto him that makes him appear more beatific than any stained-glass depiction of the very saint whose Crest he bears.

Ferdinand’s words catch up to Hubert. “You don’t normally pray for yourself?”

“I do for the Black Eagle Strike Force as a whole,” says Ferdinand, eyes fluttering shut. “And other individual members on occasion. When they are holed up in the infirmary with a severe wound, for instance. As for my survival, I prefer to take it into my own hands rather than leaving it to the Goddess—after all, if she is to be on any side, why would it be ours?” Ferdinand laughs, on the hollow side, and opens his eyes. “We are not fighting alongside her. The professor may have the Goddess within, but I hardly think it is her will to destroy the institution bearing her name, even if that name is borne in vain.”

Doubt is something foreign to Hubert, who has spent his entire life fighting for the same cause. Still, he shifts somewhat closer to Ferdinand, enough to brush their shoulders together. “You chose to walk this path, need I remind you.”

Ferdinand sighs, breath almost visible, though he isn’t so much as shivering. “I did. And I will stay the course.” The fierce determination, as bright and brilliant as a handful of magical fire, in his eyes is almost too much for Hubert—he glances away, facing the front of the cathedral as well. “I believe in what we are doing here. And someone must keep Edelgard in check by disagreeing with her at least every now and then, no?”

“I’m not so sure about _that_ ,” says Hubert, narrowing his eyes, but it isn’t enough to snuff out the slow curl of Ferdinand’s smile.

“Well, there is also you to disagree with my disagreements with Edelgard.” Ferdinand nudges his shoulder against Hubert’s in a silent reciprocation of the earlier gesture. “I suppose the two of us must stick together, then—until death do us part, as it were. Ah, I know you told me not to speak of such things, but that is a mere figure of speech in this case.”

“You sound as though you’re proposing we elope,” notes Hubert with a half-smile.

For a split second, Ferdinand falters. He quirks his head to the side, hair shifting along the curve of his neck. “And if I were? It—is something that has been on my mind as of late, I must admit. If I _did_ ask you to elope with me, or even to simply marry me, what would you say?”

Hubert’s breathing stutters. Though the words should make everything shift, nothing else out of the ordinary happens. The floor doesn’t teeter beneath Hubert; the cathedral doesn’t light up with a strike of lightning or a meteor falling in the distance; the colors of Hubert’s surroundings don’t invert themselves. All that happens is this: The cathedral falls as silent as the grave, and both men standing in it go still.

“Oh, goodness,” says Ferdinand, smile gone slack in his shock. “I—I am sincerely sorry, my dear, it was—most unbecoming to blurt that out so crudely. And at such an inopportune time and place. The war is not even over yet, so it is hardly the right time for such frivolous matters, but—but I cannot say I did not mean it.” He sighs and drags a hand through his hair. “I had an entire speech, one much more eloquent, prepared, albeit only a draft. A draft of a draft, really—only the basic skeleton and, you know, the big question. Since I only planned to ask you once we had taken Fhirdiad. Oh, please say _something_ , Hubert,” adds Ferdinand with a flustered glance to the side. “Even if it is a strongly-worded refusal. I will understand, I promise, I just—I cannot bear your silence, as I cannot tell whether it speaks volumes.”

Hubert inhales, sharp, and holds up a hand to say _wait_. Ferdinand does, although he doesn’t appear to be too happy about it, eyeing Hubert with suspicion while Hubert catches his breath enough to say, “I’m not entirely sure what you would like me to say.”

“Well, I did say _anything_.” Ferdinand’s brow twitches. “But I did mean the truth, preferably. In regards to my informal, ill-timed proposal. It is not like you to be this dense,” he says with a sharp look, which they both know isn’t true.

“Ah. I—am not opposed to the idea.” Hubert glances away, staring forward at the mound of rubble that once was an altar and searching for some kind of meaningful symbolism to the eyes of a nonbelieving dissident, but the weight of Ferdinand’s gaze on him distracts him. He clears his throat. “Of marriage, that is—more specifically, marrying you. I—I have thought about it as well, to be honest. Although I agree that now isn’t the right time for a proper proposal.”

He brings himself to turn back toward Ferdinand, whose open stare is shockingly inscrutable. “And… an improper proposal?”

“Have you not already given one?” asks Hubert. He’s unsure what to do with his hands—he folds them behind his back and moves them forward to wring at his waist before repeating the process. In the end, he crosses them over his chest. There, his fingers drum at his arms. “Still—an official answer would be ill-suited for an unofficial question, would it not? So I won’t respond in any certain terms.”

“You—” The brief fury crossing Ferdinand’s face turns to reluctant acceptance as he swallows. “Fine. Keep me in anticipation, then. See if I ever _do_ ask properly.”

“Oh, you needn’t worry too much,” says Hubert, tipping his head to the side with a smile. “I think you’ll like whatever answer I shall have to give you.”

“Hmm,” is all Ferdinand has to say to that, but he can’t quite hide his half-smile.

Hubert sighs and, with a rashness he doesn’t often allow himself, reaches between them to pull Ferdinand into a placating embrace. Despite his strength—evident in the muscular arms that twine around Hubert in turn—Ferdinand lets himself be pulled with a low hum. His head lowers to tuck beneath Hubert’s chin. Hubert takes a deep breath and forces himself to relax as much as he’s able to.

“One day,” he says, “when this Goddess-forsaken war is over and the next one has begun, you can ask properly, with the final draft of that speech of yours—” he’ll hate it, he’s certain, but like Ferdinand’s unnecessary prayers, it’s the thought that counts “—and I will give you a proper answer. Consider that a promise.”

A laugh sounds against his collar. “I shall hold you to it, dearest.”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks so much for reading!! if you have time to spare, comments and kudos are always appreciated <3
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/withlittlequill) | [tumblr](https://infernallegaycy.tumblr.com)


End file.
